First, I should mention that I’d like to keep this blog anonymous. If you happen to leave a (kind, gentle, cheek caressing) comment, please don’t mention my unusual and easily attributable name. There is nothing more cathartic than letting built-up steam escape through an open mouthed vent. I’d like to be able to occasionally do that without fear of swift and painful retribution. Taking responsibility makes me queasy and the anti-nausea meds at my local Vietnamese pharmacy are all well past their expiration date.
I had planned to start this blog in the spring when I first left the sleep-deprived streets of NYC for the pedophile-lined lanes of Bangkok. Unfortunately, until now, I’ve been far too busy. I mean, REALLY, RIDICULOUSLY busy.
Actually, it would be more accurate to say that I’ve been really busy doing ridiculous things. My calendar has been filled to the brim, bursting at the seams, chock-full, and any other idioms I can waste time recalling; with procrastination tactics. If procrastination were an art form, 'today' would be my canvas and 'tomorrow,' my muse.
Normally, the only time I can use the words “too” and “thin” in a row to describe myself is when I precede them with “spreading myself.” And that’s exactly what’s been happening; I’ve been spreading myself like a Bánh Mì, chicken liver pâté all over central Vietnam. I’m considering hiring a personal assistant. My stalling methods are simply more than one woman can handle.
For example, yesterday, I was diligently hitting my Facebook homepage refresh button in order to fulfill my stringent quota of fifty-hits-per-day. Suddenly, I remembered that I was late for an appointment with my reflection to make sexy faces at it while I drank vodka and danced in front of my mirror. When I finally showed up, I did NOT look happy and my tardiness cast me in a very unprofessional light. Luckily, many skilled sexy dancers have risen to success, despite bad lighting and being both unhappy and unprofessional. (Fun fact- until recently, my home city of Portland, Oregon had the most professional sexy dancer clubs per capita in the US.)
My procrastination usually comes in stages. Stage one is a semi-legit one. In the case of my move to Vietnam, it included slapping on a fresh coat of deodorant and exploring my new city, Danang. I spent the past month figuring out which food cart meals needed to be followed by a Pepto aperitif, drinking at every bar in town to experience and not remember the culture (of drunken expats), and using a carving knife to attack unsuspecting Vietnamese words and phrases. Take that, “Bạc Xỉu!” Didn’t see that one coming, did you, “Cám ơn? Die, commie cùm!” I am the Jack The Ripper of Danang, butchering the Vietnamese language down dark alleyways, one mispronounced syllable at a time.
Stage two consists of me procrastinating on finally getting around to my usual procrastination tactics. During this period, you might find me in a café, wearing headphones to disguise my prolific eavesdropping. A favorite game is counting the number of words exchanged over dinner between the fat, old Westerners and their young, beautiful Vietnamese wives. (Record high, 2. I really think Bob and Phuong are going to go the distance). They say that some couples wake up one morning and realize they have nothing to talk about. In expat/local relationships that phenomena is sometimes referred to as a “first date”…and every one following it.
During stage two, I might also teach the neighborhood geckos to chirp Korean boyband covers in perfect harmony so that I can exploit them in a Joe Jackson-like fashion. When we’re not busy touring I could be found giggling with the secretly gay one while we kick our legs back and fourth and gossip like schoolgirls over how cute the GEICO gecko is. (All the while reminding him to keep his sexual preferences under wraps because homosexuality is technically illegal in Vietnam and furthermore, we don’t want to alienate our teenage, female fanbase.)
Once all of that’s been checked off of my extensive to-do list, I can finally get down to the serious time frittering; the meat and pot stickers, if you will. This includes photoshopping heat rash and sweat stains out of my latest travel photos and actually reading the numerous spam emails my mother sends.
My mom firmly believes in God, country and that forwarding a chain email to everyone in her address book will get her a free Blockbuster Video gift card. This is despite the fact that not one of these mythical cards has ever shown up in her mailbox. I’m not sure who she thinks actually tracks this, how she thinks they got her home address or, if Blockbuster Video even exists anymore post Netflix.
After all that I’m free to ask my English deficient motorbike man if he wants to catch a late showing of Kung Fu Panda II, or “not-chat” over a cup of coffee.
“How’s life, Mr. Lai? How’s Mrs. Lai doing? You guys okay? If you ever need to get anything off your hairless chest, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”
“Yes, Sir, Madame.”
“I’m glad we can speak so freely with each other, Mr. Lai. It’s not everyday you meet someone whom you immediately feel so comfortable with. We fit together like a motorbike helmet and a head, you and me. Well…not a Vietnamese helmet on an American head. Your tiny helmet gives me headaches. I digress. What I mean to say is, you’re not like the other motomen; always worrying about money, money, money.”
“Money? You pay 25,000 Dong!”
“Right?! That’s a spot-on impression of them! Gosh, you’re funny. Mrs. Lai is a lucky woman…”
Fast-forward to August and at least 1/18 of those tactics are a thing of the past. Now that I’ve had a falling out with the geckos over contract disputes and Mr. Lai conveniently has “other customers” and “a family” to tend to after dropping me off, I’ve run out of excuses.
So here I am, sitting on a floor cushion in a café, wishing the other customers would go home for their midday naps so I could aim every fan in the place at my person. Instead, I’m withstanding aerial assault blasts from speakers that are firing Vietnamese love ballads directly at my ear canals. I’m hunched over my laptop at a table made for Smurfs who fall below the 70th percentile on the Smurf height charts and the electricity is fading in and out of consciousness as it slowly dies of heat exhaustion.
I could be using this valuable time to call a local Vietnamese movie channel to inquire as to why Will Smith’s voice is dubbed over with a woman’s in ‘I Am Legend.’ Or I could be industriously catching mosquitoes between my chopsticks in order to sharpen hang-eye coordination skills that I will…use to catch more mosquitoes in chopsticks.
Instead, I’m writing this blog post.
I am, of course, doing this in order to keep you, my beloved friends and family, updated on my adventures in foreign lands. But more importantly, so that you too will have yet another procrastination outlet. Taking the time to read this blog is an excellent chance to further delay completing important tasks at your jobs, starting dinner in your homes and getting work done in your yards…because I care.
(This is where I would say, “And you’re welcome,” in Vietnamese if I had added “Vietnamese language lessons” to my list of procrastination tactics. Maybe next week…)
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